


Differences.

by HexingQueen



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7276174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HexingQueen/pseuds/HexingQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They do have their differences - Tharja, Nowi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Differences.

They do have their differences – Tharja, Nowi.

Nowi prefers the sun, and, as a result, can often be found outside, in the trees, the bushes, the lake. Tharja, on the other hand, favours the storm that soaks her hair and provides her with an _excellent_ atmosphere for turning whoever bugged her that day into a toad. The manakete finds herself whimpering at the sound of thunder, of heavy rain and hailstones hammering on the ground, and although it’s usually preceded by an eye-roll, or a sigh, she somehow manages to stay with the mage every time the lightning strikes. It’s not exactly what one would call a perfect arrangement, but Nowi doesn’t seem to mind watching the other producing wisps of purple smoke in silence, and, as long as the green-haired girl doesn’t tip over anything, Tharja finds it quite agreeable.

On the days when the sky is blue and the clouds far, far away, the dragon often attempts to drag her friend out to the hills, for a game of hide and seek, or duck duck dragon, or sometimes, just to talk. Tharja grumbles and huffs and folds her arms, but, for some reason she doesn’t quite know herself, she somehow finds it within herself to follow, every time. Of course, actually playing once she’s out is an entire story altogether – more often than not, she finds herself bribing Gaius with promises of never-ending sugar and hexes to make all his dreams come true if only he’ll take her place in what she likes to call a wild goose chase. And, Nowi being Nowi, she more often than not manages to convince Tharja to join in. “The more the merrier!” She’ll grin, and run off before anyone can stop her. (And since he _technically_ didn’t agree to her terms, the ginger finds himself with a horrific lack of sugar and, as a result, a bad mood.)

Some days, Tharja finds Nowi with a sad, far-away look in her eyes, and those are the days they sit together somewhere quiet, a tree, or a field, or a river, and lament over lost parents and friends, over the war they are fighting and their inability to fit in with Sumia and Olivia and whoever else Nowi decides is in the ‘pretty committee’ that day. Those are also the days that Nowi knows not to mention to anyone else, lest her tongue be turned into worms and her limbs to slugs.

When Nowi catches the raven-haired girl sitting alone in the mess hall, or staring wistfully towards the west, and the desert, she likes to distract her, take her mind off it. She doesn’t so much talk it through, more so force the other on long walks through the forest, with apples and pears and half-eaten chocolate bars so generously donated to her; whether it ends in a game or just lying down under a tree somewhere far away from Robin and all of Tharja’s troubles, Nowi is sure not to return to camp until that tiny smile appears on the mage’s face (Or, in some cases, a frown, and then she’s quite sure she’s back to her normal self.)

Tharja’s hair is straight, and sleek, and the colour of ash, and crow’s feathers ( _“And her soul!”_ Laughs Henry, which earns him a thwack on the head from a tome), and Nowi’s is a mess of green and blonde and white, tumbling around her shoulders and face. Sometimes, Nowi insists on tying Tharja’s hair like her own, and Tharja begrudgingly sits on the floor and opens a dusty old book, whilst Nowi attempts to gather up the darkness and make some sort of heap out of it – but their hair is too unlike, and it usually results in Nowi groaning and giving up. On the day they decide perhaps it would work best the other way round, Tharja’s fingers get tangled up in the green, knots being pulled at and leaves and bugs somehow finding themselves out of Nowi’s hair; they both decide that perhaps hairdressing isn’t such a good idea, after all.

One is sociable, the other not; whilst she may not be like the others, Nowi finds a way to push herself in, worm her way into other’s hearts. Tharja, on the other hand, does not see the point in attempting to fit in– she distances herself, preferring to be alone, or perhaps with only one or two people she dares to call friends. When she finds herself stuck in awkward situations, she gets her way out of it with threats and glares and excuses of Robin and Gaius and how dreadful it would be for everyone if she didn’t leave right that moment; Nowi escapes through smiles and laughs and odd questions, through requests for games and dragon-back rides.

When the Shepherds go out, to a festival, or a market, Nowi enjoys the company and chance to explore – Tharja more often than not finds herself wishing she had stayed back at the camp. Somehow, though, every time, the manakete manages to find a way to grab her best friend’s hand and drag her through stalls of cloth, jewels, food – through crowds and crowds that Tharja would otherwise avoid at all costs – and, though she will never admit it, the dark-haired girl finds herself enjoying it more than she should do, and doesn’t dread the next visit quite so much.

And, though they both know that one day, far, far away for Tharja and a blink of an eye for Nowi, there will be a time when Tharja will leave the world they live in, leave her friend behind. Gaius calls her his sunshine, and for once, Nowi agrees with him; for she is sure that when the time comes, and Tharja is no more than a memory, lost in a sea of others, she will surely stand out the brightest, a sun amongst a lifetime of stars, a dear, wise friend that Nowi was so proud to call her own.

The prospect of her death scares the mage sometimes, but she finds an odd comfort in the fact that, some day, when Plegia is lost from the map and her name but an urban legend, the small, green-haired girl will find her way back to her, as she always does, with a smile, a laugh, and a lifetime’s worth of adventures, to catch up on.

 

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
